hanging by a string
by dead end justice
Summary: He leans his head against the stone like it's her shoulder because he's completely and totally crazy and murmurs things like "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "please, please forgive me."


**a/n:** for my childhood friend that was recently found raped and murdered. rest in peace, little angel.

and a note to you, if you're reading this: please, please, _please_ be careful. you don't know what's out there, so trust your instincts and never go anywhere alone. there are a lot of people that will hurt if you're gone.

(( this is choppy and a little bit fragment-y and a lot of blah ))

* * *

**hanging by a string  
**He leans his head against the stone like it's her shoulder because he's completely and totally crazy and murmurs things like "_I'm sorry_" and "_I love you_" and "_please, please forgive me._"

* * *

Three hours, fifteen minutes, and forty-one seconds after someone tells someone else who tells another person who tells his mother, Derrick's curled up on the floor of his shower with his palms pressed so tightly into his eyes he can almost see stars. He whimpers and heaves and sniffs to keep himself collected and composed and he's not sure why he's even bothering anymore. His entire body is pressed into the marble of his bathtub, his limbs cramped and uncomfortable, but he can hardly feel it. Water pierces him like bullets from a gun and the droplets _burn _and it doesn't matter, not at all, that it's freezing- cold cold cold- because he can't feel. Can't can't can't.

The words "_Massie's dead_" reverberate through his mind at the speed of light until they echo like he's in a canyon and it's the only thing he hears. He's going to explode with the pressure that sentence brings; he breathes so heavily he shakes and _Massie's dead, Massie's dead, Massie's dead_-

Not living. Gone. Out of commission. Destroyed.

Derrick screams with water pelting and his clothes sticking and his voice cracks just like his heart and he's clawing at something, _anything_, to keep him upright, but there's nothing there, nothing to hold on to.

With nothing to steady him, he spirals down down _down_ and he doesn't care that the dying cat sound is coming from him or that his face is wet from more than just the shower head. Salt taints his taste buds and he's fucking crying- crying CRYING _CRYING_-

And then the curtain's pulled aside and Sammi's there, picture perfect like always. Derrick doesn't have it in him to tell her to fuck off- there are no words- and he's afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth.

Her lips say nothing, but her eyes write him a novel, and she's stepping into his whirlpool of despair, wrapping her arms around his trembling form. He finally finds something to grip- the back of her shirt- and he digs his fingers into the material (and maybe her back but he isn't sure), trying to find something that's real because surely this isn't.

Massie can't be dead but she is. He knows. His mother wouldn't lie about that because she _knew_. She knew knew knew.

Sammi cradles him while he sobs into her shoulder, her hands almost soothing, but they're not good enough because they're not the ones he wants.

.

He's in his pajamas when they find him, a ratty pair of plaid pants and a shirt that looks so worn it might slip off his frame, buried somewhere beneath the wool and the sheets, his safety from the storm.

Alicia makes no comment about his lack of hygiene and Cam has no smart ass remark up his sleeve. They say nothing, that's become a theme with him, because he's not going to respond, not unless you can do something _important_, which no one can, and he notices the mattress on either side of him shift.

Derrick feels Alicia cuddle into him and he lets her, nuzzling his face into her neck, the familiar chocolate scent of her perfume doing nothing to ease his stomach. It continues to rock like a boat out at sea and he thinks he might be seasick. Very green, if he's not. Definitely ready to puke.

Cam runs his fingers through his hair like Derrick's this pathetic, sniveling newborn, which he is, really. He balls his blanket into his fist and allows this to comfort him- both Alicia and Cam and their body heat and their soft touches- but he's still ten thousand miles away from them and they're not Massie.

They'll never be Massie and she won't be there again because she's gone, gone, _gone_.

He doesn't know when he starts to cry into Alicia's collar, but all she does is hold his hand.

.

He can't get himself to go to the funeral.

He can't see the body- lifeless, empty, a shell.

He can't.

.

Everything's hazy and blurry and a little upside down and Derrick's not even sure how he got here. He's tripping over his feet and rocks and he's drunk maybe; he doesn't remember the past couple of hours or days. He doesn't even know how many weeks have passed since... everything.

But he knows where he is even if he hasn't the slightest clue as to how he's there. He doesn't like cemeteries- they freak him out more than they should- and he definitely shouldn't be storming through this one like he owns it.

He doesn't own it, though; he feels so incredibly small when he's standing in front of the gravestone. His fingers shake as he outlines the letters that spell her name-

_MASSIE BLOCK_

-and then he slams his fists against the granite over and over until his knuckles are stinging and bleeding.

"How could you do this to me?" he demands. His voice is rough and aches like he hasn't used it in forever... which, actually, he hasn't. "_How_?"

It's no one's fault but he feels like it's his. He should've been there to save her, to shelter her, to keep her warm, and he's failed at the one thing he's supposed to be good at and now he's so goddamn _alone_.

"I loved you," he murmurs, his tongue feeling heavy. He hates the way the past tense sounds on a word like that- on something so beautiful and meaningful and _perfect_- and tries to fix it, to make it better, but he can't force "_love_" out of his mouth.

He loves her though. He loves her so fucking much it hurts although he can't say it like that, not when she's not there to hear it. Not when he couldn't protect her.

Taking deep breaths doesn't help; it doesn't fill the growing ache in his chest. He just wants to be close to her again, to feel her skin, to hold her hand in his. There's no way he can do that ever again. Someone _took_ her from him.

And he'll never see her smile or hear her laugh. He'll never get to see the look on her face when he finally mans up and tells her he loves her- he had to fucking say it to a _headstone_ and he feels worse than ever, like his important organs have turned to mush.

All he wants is her there and he'll never get that ever again. He'll have to wait until it's his turn to go after years and years of being apart and maybe when that happens, she won't want to be near him because he couldn't keep her alive when he had the chance-

The thought makes him even more nauseous than before. He rolls into himself, leaning his head against the stone like it's her shoulder because he's completely and totally crazy and murmurs things like "_I'm sorry_" and "_I love you_" and "_please, please forgive me_" over and over again.

There's no big wind to kiss his face and play with his hair like there is in the movies and Massie doesn't answer because she _can't_ and Derrick doesn't think he can handle this feeling of ultimate abandonment.


End file.
